Butterfly

I will always remember that butterfly, and that once in a lifetime event, as described in today's poem.

I remember precisely the hillside on which I was sitting when the butterfly found me.

I had been mowing the grounds of a friend's summer home in Southern Ohio. It was a hot, steamy day. The mower had become balky, so I decided we both needed a rest ... a bit of cooling off.

I was just sitting there, hoping for a bit of breeze, when it happened. But let's let the poem tell what occurred:

BUTTERFLY

I remember sitting

so still, feeling

the sweat trickling

down my back, beading

along my forearms,

a touch like

an angel's breath

when a butterfly

fluttered down

onto my sunburned

hand and sat there

for the longest time

before sipping

that moisture born

of hard labor, then

lifted lightly off, wafted

away like a dream.

© 1996

(originally published in Read, America!)

***

Today's word: wafted

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Thank you, Marti, for that comment! When someone says what you did, then I know I've really succeeded ... but I always say, too, that what the reader brings to the poem is so important. I'm delighted for the understanding you brought ... and I hope that made it a pleasant interlude on a wintery day.

Thank you so much, Southernmush, for sharing that encounter with that small yellow butterfly ... that sends my memory flying back to summers long ago ... and I'm always delighted when I'm part of your day ... especially when you share your thoughts with us. Best wishes.